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dancing girl press, 2014
$7.00 |
Portia Elan lives with her Gemini cat in the San Francisco Bay Area; she attends the MUSE program at UC Berkeley and teaches in Oakland. She recently completed her MFA in Poetry at the University of Victoria. She also holds degrees in Library Science (Univ. of Illinois, ’11) & Medieval History (Stanford, ’10).
I HOPE FOR MANY THINGS BABY BUT I’M NOT SURE YOU’RE ONE
A woman outside is parallel parking a car with a canoe on the roof and I am silently rooting for her to get it right on the first try and she does, the red metal car body swinging into the space and the draped canoe hanging over the cars in front and behind and the woman sits in the car for a moment, eating a chocolate bar.
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Half a pair of dice, shoes on the telephone line, a restored steam engine, the breathtaking effect of the clouds reflected in the brown water of the harbor an hour or two before sunset on a day I thought it would rain –
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There is – but for the dirty dishes & the unswept floor – nothing left to do here, but lie on the bed stripped of sheets and drown my hands in my own self.
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I’ve given up my hunger to hope, given up my hunger for thirst, for new shoes, for books of poems & books on the Bible, for the good table by the window, for a mix CD of Edith Piaf & Van Morrison songs, for you maybe for you: for you
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When did it get so dark?
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The cat is terrible at asking to be loved – a situation with which I have sympathy – here: in simple words: I keep waiting for the phone.
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The temperature soars and dips all over our island and I chase the cool. Up and down the coast alone and alone. Poor me. Pity pity.
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Over gin cocktails with a friend my cheeks flushed I say – I am!
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The harbor fills with boats. They come and go.